


Pretenders Of Another Kind

by jessebee



Category: Queen of Swords
Genre: Child Abuse, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Tag, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-27
Updated: 2013-05-27
Packaged: 2017-12-13 02:52:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/819115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessebee/pseuds/jessebee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Missing scene for the Queen Of Swords episode "The Pretender."</p>
<p>3/24/03</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pretenders Of Another Kind

 

 

Santa Helena, Alta California - 1818

 

Dr. Robert Helm lay on his left side in his low, narrow cot, which was the only position that afforded him any relief from the cuts on his face and the lump on the back of his head. He was beginning to wonder if, between the pains of his body and the one in his heart, he'd get any sleep at all, when he heard the whisper of sound from the vicinity of the window. He hadn't even realized he was tense --waiting -- until he felt himself relax.Only one person ever entered his home in that fashion, at that window, in the middle of the night.

 

"Is there," he queried the darkness, "somethingabout the air here on the edge of nowhere that ensures that no one in this godforsaken hamlet ever knocks?"

 

"I'll be sure to scratch on the frame next time." Her voice was low, husky and amused, and it spread ribbons of warmth through his gut as it always did. The Queen of Swords was a darker shadow in the dimness of the room as she moved unerringly towards his bed and sank to the floor next to it. Helm tried out the idea of sitting upbut abandoned it swiftly, a groan escaping despite himself. He was entirely too tired and sore for propriety… _and why should she care for propriety?_ _She's the Queen of Swords, for God's sake!_ Damn the woman anyway; wasn't this her fault somehow?

 

"You're hurt."

 

"Brilliant deduction on your part. Why is it that anything you're involved in seems to be painful?"

 

"Well, you must not feel **too** bad -- you're as friendly as ever." She still sounded amused, but there was a raspy undertone that he'd not heard from her before tonight, one that seemed to bespeak a weariness not entirely of the body.

 

There was silence for some moments, and Helm studied her silhouette as she sat there, cross-legged, by his head, her arm barely a scant foot from the edge of his low mattress. They were well away from the soft path of light cast through the window by the quarter-moon, but still the glow was enough for him to pick out the pale swath of her throat, and the half of her face not hidden by her black lace mask. The angle of her shoulders looked -- tired.

 

"I'm **\--** sorry about your fight, Doctor."

 

Helm spared a moment to wonder how she knew, then relented, remembering the satisfaction of planting his fist in Grisham's face. "I'm not. I'm only sorry that I wasn't allowed to finish it."

 

The Queen shifted. "Wasn't allowed?"

 

"Someone hit me from behind. By the time I came 'round it was too late, they'd already packed Andreo off to Monterey. And his bastard of a father will get away with murder." He stopped, wincing, wishing fervently for something cold to help ease the ache in his jaw. The pain would subside, of course, eventually **;** it was only physical, and it would heal. The ache in his heart for the abused boy he'd been unable to help would be another matter entirely.

 

The Queen moved again, nearer this time. Helm could distinguish more of her face now, close to his, in the faint light. Almost close enough to kiss.

 

"The coach to Monterey encountered some problems, I'm afraid." Her breath fanned his cheek. "Andreo never did arrive. In fact, I believe he is back at the Rey hacienda as we speak, minus the company of the charming couple who have been pretending to be his parents."

 

Disbelief and elation coiled through him. Helm stared at what he could see of her, and suddenly it wasn't enough. "There's a candle on the bench there. Lightit, please."

 

After a moment's hesitation, she did as he asked, and set candle, holder, flint and steel back on the narrow bench at the head of his cot. In the small pool of light it cast, Helm studied her: the high cheekbones hinted at under her mask; the full mouth; the rich, brown, maddeningly familiar eyes. He could see the Queen studying him as well, her eyes widening and lips parting as she took in the extent of his injuries. He knew he looked like hell. She started to reach toward him but checked the motion, and he felt a curl of disappointment. He told himself it didn't matter.

 

" **Pretending** to be?" Helm asked, dragging his thoughts back to the matter at hand.

 

"Yes. I believe that they were servants of the Reys, and that they murdered Andreo's parents and took their places, probably to gain hold of the Rey family fortune. The man who was murdered had come from Spain to inform them of the inheritance, but when he found they were imposters, he left, heading for town…"

 

"…and was shot in the back because he would have exposed the truth," Helm finished slowly; impressed again, despite himself, by her agile mind. The Queen nodded. "A lovely theory, I would say. Now all that's needed is some proof."

 

Her lips curved up in that lazy, pleased-with-herself half-smirk that never failed to annoy him or arouse him, or both. "Our inestimatable Colonel has provided that. After some persuading, that is."

 

Helm felt both his eyebrows go up and a small smile start, despite the throb from his split lip. "Do tell."

 

The Queen did, outlining the conversation she had eavesdropped on, the revelations of the deal made by the pretender Reys with Montoya, and the swordfight which had followed. "And so eventually I -- convinced -- the Colonel to give me the paper."

 

"Convinced him."

 

"With a fist to the jaw. I expect he'll have a bit of a lump on his head, judging from the way he hit the ground."

 

Helm had to grin in spite of the pain it caused him; as much as he disliked her methods, he had a nasty hunch that it was Montoya who had knocked him out earlier that day. _And if so, why then it's only poetic justice, Colonel._

 

The Queen grinned back. "Packed earth can be awfully hard, you know."

 

"So Andreo is safe." The ache in his heart eased a touch, although not enough to dissipate his revulsion at what the boy must have gone through all those years. That, he knew, would never really leave him.

 

"And the imposters are sampling the comforts of Montoya's jail **.** Andreo is free of them now. And perhaps tomorrowhe will learn more of the truth of what happened all those years ago."

 

Helm eyed her curiously. There was a tone in her voice that he didn't understand, something wistful, something -- lost -- that he found he wanted to comfort. The Queen's gaze had slipped from him to the small candle flame, its glow dancing in the rich weave of her mask and the liquid gleam of her eyes.

 

"There's something else,"he said. It wasn't a question.

 

The Queen blinked and looked at him for a moment, then back at the candle. She seemed to be struggling, and Helm realized with a thrill that she was on the verge of revealing some small piece of herself to him. Of trusting him.

 

_Please,_ he pled silently. _Trust me._

 

"I …" She took a deep breath. "This is my home, Doctor. I grew up here. I know these people. I have known Andreo Rey since he was a child, but he never spoke of this -- **travesty** that was his home. I knew nothing **,** **we** knew nothing of this, of how monstrous -- " She drew another deep breath, then looked directly into his eyes. "Why? Why did he never speak? And why did we never see?"

 

His breath caught at her obvious anguish, a reflection of his own. The urge to comfort, to help, to do **something** overrode all else. He reached out, the pain in his shoulders only distantly felt as his fingers made contact with the Queen's hair and curved around the back of her head. Not quite believing he was doing it, he pulled gently. And to his grateful shock, she yielded; leaned forward and into him, tucking her face beneath his chin.

 

His heart threatened to break for her even as it raced at her closeness. Helm let himself savor everything: the slight roughness of lace against his skin, the warmth of her breath across his throat, the out-of-place rasp of grit in the heavy silky feelof the Queen's hair under his fingers. Her hair smelt faintly of roses, the same scent he'd gotten a bare whiff of during those world-wrenching moments weeks earlier when she'd kissed him. He slid his hand down the slick fall to her shoulder, so strong for a woman and so tense, muscles taut under his palm and trembling slightly.

 

His arm tightened as his heart did break, falling to pieces inside him.

 

"You don't know how much I wish I had an answer for you," he whispered, his throat tight.

 

Her shoulders began to shake in earnest, then, but her grief remained nearly silent. He held her and murmured meaningless, soothing sounds while somewhere deep within a tiny, treacherous bit of him was hopping up and down in joy. _She came to me. She came to_ _ **me**_ _. . ._

 

** ** **

 

"You suspected the--abuse, though, did you not?" she asked some time later, her voice thick, and Helm twitched in surprise. How in hell had she known that?

 

"I did," he conceded. "But I'm a doctor, and during the war I was…" He swallowed back the words he'd nearly said, and tried again. "I was--good at seeing things that others didn't want seen. And I'm an outsider here, not so close to people. Sometimes distance can make for a clearer view."

 

_Oh yes. Distance._ The thought tasted bitter. He was isolated from the people he helped, and it was his own doing, he knew. Everyone knew him, but no one truly did.

 

The poor locals seemed to regard him in some awe, because of his knowledge. The dons and their circle liked him well when they needed him, and he was apparently a prize to have at a party, as his distaste for them was well-known, but any true friendship was out of the question. He was, after all, English. Colonel Montoya, of everyone here, understood the most of what he had been and what he was capable of; and so tolerated and used him with "kind" words and a concealed knife.

 

Captain Grisham hated his guts, and the feeling was mutual. Vera Hidalgo wanted to sleep with him -- as if he would seriously consider touching anyone who would voluntarily bed Grisham. Tessa Alvarado annoyed and confused him, frequently at the same time, playing her social games. But then he would glimpse a far more thoughtful, intelligent woman underneath the façade, and he would find himself interested -- and annoyed yet again.

 

His moment of self-pity broke off as the woman beside him stilled, stiffened. Then her head came up and Helm was startled by the fierce look in the Queen's red-rimmed eyes. "You are **not** an outsider here, Doctor! At first, yes, but no more! You are as much a part of Santa Helena as anyone, and more than some who have been here far longer."

 

Her protestation warmed him; then cold logic stepped in. O _f course you are -- you're more_ _ **useful**_ _than some who've been here longer._ _A part of, and yet not._ "Yes, well, a decent doctor is usually welcomed -- "

 

"It's not that!" she snapped, and perversely, her flare of temper reassured him. "You care **about** the people here, not just care **for** them, and they know this. You have become their friend. And mine."

 

Helm felt his heart skip, and the Queen bit her lip and turned away, closing her eyes as though she'd not meant to let those last few words go.

 

"Have I?"

 

The Queen turned back to him and seemed to search his eyes. "I believe you have. Although," she continued,her voice and the curve of her mouth turning wry,"I don't believe it has been very good for your health." This time she did not check the motion as she reached out with one gloved hand, brushing his hair carefully, almost tenderly, off of his forehead. Helm nearly had to close his eyes as the gentle touch sent his world skittering sideways **.** Hefound himself abruptly fighting the urge to grab that hand and press his mouth to it.

 

Before he could give in to the impulse, the moment was gone. The Queen sat back and looked toward the window. "I mustgo. **You** must rest."

 

"What, do you qualify for my job, now, too, along with that of guardianangel?"

 

The Queen started, and Helm wondered what he'd said. But when she spoke, her voice was as dry as ever.

 

"Hardly. I might have to fight you for it, and who knows what might happen then?"

 

Helm nearly rolled his eyes. _Back to her regular sarcastic self; all is again right with the world._

 

"But my being here is dangerous for you," she continued, "and I would say you've had enough pain for one day."

 

"I'm glad you came." _Damn, I'm more tired than I thought._ He hadn't meant to say that out loud. But her eyes warmed, and he was suddenly glad that he had.

 

"Soam I."

 

Then the candle was out and the room dark again. As his eyes readjusted to the night,Helm had the impression of motion in the shadows, heard the faint creak of the sash, then silence.

 

She was gone.

 

He closed his eyes and sighed, pushing every bit of air from his lungs, then pulling in as deep a breath as his abused ribs would allow. He stopped, puzzled for a second, then pulled the collar of his nightshirt close to his nose and inhaled again. _Did it…? Yes._ It smelt ever so faintly of roses.

 

_finis_

 

 


End file.
